My sister once told me there are three phases of packing:
Phase 1.) Cleaning out. Sorting through toys, clothes, books, you name it and loading up the minivan with stuff for the Good Will.
Phase 2.) This is when you are actually packing up the boxes with a tape gun in your tool belt holster. And somehow there’s a whole other layer of junk that had faded from your memory sometime after your last move! And you think, “I can’t believe we gotta another Good Will run!”
By now you are feeling quite purged and pared down, right? Wrong. Then comes Phase 3.) Unpacking in your new, empty home. Sure enough, you will pull things out of their packing peanuts and bubble wrap and think, “I can’t believe I packed this!”
Right now we are in Phase 1, and I know no matter how well I scour and liquidate our assets at our garage sale this weekend, I’ve still got two more phases to go.
The one good thing about being nomads is that it does force you to do a thorough clean out every couple of years. But even then, how all this clutter fanegaled it’s way into our lives in just the 18 months we’ve been here is beyond me.
I wonder if I could document like they do in nature shows and set up a camera to record the life of my kitchen junk drawer. You know, and then speed it up so we could all witness the mysterious mating dance of clutter.
One, two, junk-junk-junk…Three, four……